


Of the Ashes

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: Melt You Down [3]
Category: JackSepticEye (YouTube RPF), Markiplier (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Forgiveness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Sometimes, people just have to forgive and forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of the Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Third and last part. Am a little nervous, because it might not be as good as you want it to be. But this is how I always wanted to end it. I will admit I put off posting this for a while because I'm so nervous that everyone is going to hate it, but then I thought, whatever. This is how I wanted it to end. If you don't like it, then, well--the other two pieces can stand alone for a reason. Yeah.
> 
> Enjoy.

“Agent Fischbach?”

Mark rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he pressed the phone closer to his ear, letting out a long sigh before he sat up. He gripped onto his sheets tightly as he mumbled, “Director Avidan?” 

“Man, you must be _really_ tired,” the voice replied. “It's Arin.” 

“Oh,” Mark felt more awake now, having gotten used to shaking himself into a functioning mindset—phone calls like this weren't uncommon. “Director Hanson, what's the matter?”

He could feel the other rolling his eyes. He always hated it when Mark referred to him as _director_. “I know you're sleeping, man, but we've got another lead on Sam. We've been tipped off to believe he's going to be at the hotel at the intersection of Crosby and Camry Lane. The one that hasn't opened yet. We think he'll show soon, but we can't be sure. We want you to go investigate.”

Mark knew the place. He'd driven past it several times during construction in the last few months. He remembered the spot before it had even become a place of construction. Jack had always commented about how he wondered what would be put in its place. Now he got to know, he supposed.

“Alright,” Mark said, throwing back his covers, stepping out of bed. “I'm on my way. What's my objective?”

“Find Sam,” Arin replied. “And arrest the bastard. Or at least apprehend him—corner him until we can send reinforcements if you can't handle him on your own. Suzy's already gathering the team together to come in half an hour after your arrival. So radio in, okay?” 

Mark opened his closet and pulled out his clothes, tossing them onto his bed. He went to his drawer and pulled out his gadgets, tossing them there, too. He hummed in affirmation. “Roger that. Talk to you soon.”

The phone clicked, and Mark sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hurriedly shucked on his clothes and strapped his gear to his belt. He glanced at the messy bed behind him and couldn't help the passing thought that he would've loved to have Jack beside him.

–

On the way down to the hotel, Mark mulled over the last few weeks. They had been hell, for the record. Jack had been cropping up everywhere, and every time, the agency sent him out. That was his own fault, though—he'd insisted that he wanted to nail Sam himself. Because Mark had a little bit of seniority in the agency, they usually abided by his wishes. The only time they hadn't was when he'd requested time off after Jack's death—or his supposed death.

Speaking of Jack, he had been ruthless in his torment of him. He hadn't been kidding when he had told Mark he would make him suffer. Every time Mark made his appearance at whatever place Jack was waiting for him, it hurt a little more. Mark was never able to fight him very well—Jack was quick on his feet, despite any nerve damage he might have suffered, and he knew Mark's own fighting style like the back of his hand. Jack had changed, more erratic and unclear in movement, confusing Mark to no end, and even when he did manage to find an opening, he could never bring himself to strike him.

Jack had no such morals.

The physical hits, though, he could take. Sure, it hurt, but Jack never struck to kill. He never used guns or knives, just his hands, shaky and unsteady as they were. And Mark was just stuck taking it. But what was even worse was when Jack brought up memories. All of their memories together. Those stung worse than anything.

Not only that, Jack taunted him with them. He forced them to the surface where Mark had buried them deep, causing him to tremble, to relive any pleasantness that had been in them, while the man he was still desperately in love with hated him to his core. Every time, Mark tried to convince him that he still loved him, that he really hadn't known, and to beg Jack to forgive him. 

Jack never answered. He always grew silent at his words, never meeting his gaze, before he would deliver one final hit to him, which Mark would always take without qualm, before stowing away. Mark would always watch him retreat, hoping that he would turn around, forgive him, and move on.

But he never did. Usually, as Mark was leaving the building, he would smell smoke. A good half hour later, the place would be in flames.

Mark rubbed his eyes. God, he was tired. He hadn't slept worth a damn since Jack's supposed death, and even more so after finding out he was alive, but hated him. Tonight would be no different than the rest of their feisty tangos together, and he wasn't looking forward to it in the slightest. 

The hotel came into view, and Mark sighed as he drove the car towards it, parking it when he got the chance. He was a bit of a distance away, for precaution in the event of explosion, and the definitive fire that would appear after their interaction. He quickly radioed Arin, letting him know that he'd arrived, and when he got the affirmative to proceed, Mark exited the car, locking it behind him. His gun was still inside—he wasn't going to use it anyway.

Mark wasn't surprised to find the hotel door unlocked, as Jack was likely already here, waiting for him. The foyer was deathly silent, his footsteps echoing as he proceeded to the front desk, where a single note lay, with a single word.

_Balcony._

It felt off to Mark that Jack would be on the balcony. He had always been afraid of heights, but he supposed maybe he didn't know Jack as well as he thought he did. He'd never thought Jack had the capacity for hate that he did, but here they were. Perhaps Jack wasn't scared of heights anymore, or perhaps he was overlooking it to push Mark off. Maybe it was finally time for him to die at Jack's hands.

It would make sense. 

But how far up to go? Which balcony was he to enter? He honestly had no clue. Mark began the long trek up the stairs—the elevators weren't working, yet, and Mark wouldn't speed up his possible death. His shoes continued to echo on the floor, as if the place were completely and utterly void of anything.

As Mark climbed, he wondered what number to go to. He started thinking of dates significantly important, ones that ached to think about. It would be just like Jack now to force him to recall something painful.

First floor passed, second floor passed, third floor passed. It went on and on like that, up dozens of steps until it finally hit him. This hotel had seventeen floors. It was the seventeenth day of the month when he'd left Jack behind. 

Mark sucked in a breath, biting down on his lower lip, until he tasted blood. Of course. Of course. He hoped he wasn't right, but goddamn, he was. He had to be. 

He kept climbing. Until floor seventeen. There were a series of rooms along the hallway, but there was one solitary room at the very end of it. Its door was cracked. Mark walked straight ahead, letting his footsteps reverberate back to him. His heart pounded in his ears. 

Mark pushed open the door with his foot. It creaked and he entered. Jack's mask was laying on the bed, along with his gun, and his jacket. When he looked at the glass door leading out to the balcony, he saw him sitting on the rail, staring right at him, moon behind him.

Honestly, it was pretty ominous. 

Jack's gaze beckoned him. Mark walked over and slid back the glass door, waiting for Jack to jump off the rail and attack him. He waited for Jack to grab him and hurl him over the edge, to start spitting off scathing remarks or to begin berating him, somehow.

But nothing. Nothing. Jack said nothing as Mark slid the door closed him, locking eyes with him. In fact, he almost smiled.

A beat passed. Then two. Then three. Jack swallowed, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You didn't really mean to leave me behind, did you?”

Mark was taken aback, thrown off by both the softness of Jack's voice and the question itself. He had been trying to convince Jack for weeks that he hadn't. He didn't know why this time was any different. But he shook his head anyway.

“I didn't,” Mark mumbled back to him. “I promise, Jack, if I had—if I had known you were still inside, that you weren't right behind me, that you weren't dead when I realized you weren't, I never would have left that place.” 

Jack let out a strained chuckle, wobbling a bit on the railing. His fingers squeezed the metal tightly. He didn't speak for a moment, and Mark could see the fluctuating emotion on his face, in his demeanor. Jack croaked, “I don't know why. But I believe you now.” 

Mark's heart stopped, his eyes widening. He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. He licked his lips, crossing his arms as he leaned against the glass. “What...changed your mind?” 

“I don't know,” Jack replied. “I just...I was laying awake in bed, y'know? And I—I don't sleep very well, 'cause I'm in so much pain all the time. And one night while I was thinking about how much I—I hated you, I just—it clicked. Like I laid there and—I saw every single emotion on your face that first time, when you realized I was alive. I was laying there and all I could think of was every interaction we'd ever had after, how every time you begged me to believe you, and I thought about your eyes and it clicked. It clicked, suddenly. Like it all fell into place.” 

He paused. Mark didn't answer him. He continued, “I've been so blinded by my anger, y'know? Like I was just so fuckin' hurt that you'd leave me there, and then I was angry, and then I let it consume me. I didn't listen to anything you had to say, didn't even really look at you because I didn't want to see that you hadn't really known—that all of this shit was for nothing. That all I've been the last few months was a fuckin' joke.”

“I don't blame you for it,” Mark tried to console him. “I mean I—I would have been just as angry.”

“But you wouldn't have become a psychotic serial killer, hellbent on revenge,” Jack retorted, then he seemed to laugh again. “God, I'm a fuckin' wreck.” 

Mark didn't dispute that. But he said nothing about it. He waited for a few minutes before prompting, “Why am I here, Jack?”

“I wanted to tell you that I forgive you,” Jack sighed. “That I really, truly forgive you. So you can move on. I don't hate you. I never really did. I just—I was angry, and you know what kind of a temper I have. I say a whole load of shite I don't mean. And—I'm sorry. For what I did you.”

Mark nodded. “I accept your apology. But, Jack—why are you telling me this now? It sounds so...”

“Final?” Jack supplied. “Yeah. 'S because it is. Final. A few minutes before you showed, I started a fire. Way down at the bottom. It's crawling its way up here. Soon this place'll be ashes, along with myself. So I wanted to tell you that, and give you enough time to get out. So you'd best be on your way, now.”

The words struck him hard. Even more so when Jack had stated that he would have enough time to get out. He said nothing of himself. “Are you serious?”

“Dead,” Jack replied. He snorted at his own dark humor. “Literally. I didn't want you to go the rest of your life being miserable, so I wanted to let you move on. I know you, Mark. It would've haunted you for the rest of your life.”

He wasn't wrong. Mark definitely would've regretted it forever. But still... “So you've decided to kill yourself?”

“What else can I do?” Jack said, and for the first time, he sounded irritated. “I'm a serial killer, Mark. I killed tons of people just because I was pissed. I'm a bad man. I can't just go back to the way things were. So I figured—fuck—I might as well go out the way I was supposed to. Finish the job this time. Seriously, Mark. You have to go now, if you wanna take the stairs. The fire started in the back, so you'll still be able to get out the front—hopefully. If not, you can probably make it out a window on the second floor, crawl down—all that jazz. We learned how to do that.”

Mark glared. Jack scowled back at him. “What, Mark? Just—fucking go.”

For the first time, Mark felt brave enough to approach him. He put his hand over Jack's, whose gaze softened. “Mark, I'm serious. Please. Just go.” 

“But I just got you back,” Mark murmured. “And I'm not—I'm not leaving you again.”

Jack grit his teeth. “How can you—how can you still love me? After all this time? I hurt you—I hurt you so badly. I forced you to suffer and I killed your new partner. I tried—I tried to kill you. That first time. Plus, I mean—look at me, Mark. I'm hideous, now.” 

“Do you still love me?” 

Mark's question apparently caught Jack off guard. His mouth hung open, as if unsure of how to answer him properly. He swallowed, glancing down at their touching hands. “I'm not allowed to anymore.” 

“You didn't answer my question,” Mark insisted.

He didn't move. Then, he nodded slowly. “Of course I fuckin' do.”

“Then that's why,” Mark said. “That's why I still love you. Because even though you did all of that, you still love me. And you're trying to make it right.”

Jack let out a shaky sigh. He shook his head. He sucked in another sharp breath when Mark found another surge of bravery, and touched his cheek. “Besides, you're still beautiful to me.” 

His partner hung his head again.“You're still—Christ, Mark. I'm not gonna watch you die, though.”

“And I won't leave knowing you will,” Mark retaliated. “So come with me.” 

The Irishman barked out a humorless laugh. “And where the fuck would we go? They'll never stop looking for me, let alone you if you bail with me. It would fuck up your whole life. No, Mark.” 

“Then I guess we're both gonna die,” Mark swallowed. “Here. Together. Like we were supposed to.” 

“Like fuck you're gonna die,” Jack hissed. “Go, Mark.”

“Are you coming with me?”

“No!”

“Then I guess you better make room,” Mark chirped, hoisting himself up onto the railing. He sat next to him, fingers gripping the metal as tight as Jack. “Because I'm not leaving you again. I promised myself that, and I'm promising you. I won't leave you behind ever again.”

Mark made a point to not look at Jack as he said this, sparing his partner the embarrassment of having Mark watch him tear up. He politely looked away until Jack sniffed, breathing out slowly, as if composing himself. 

“You're a fuckin' miracle,” Jack muttered. “But I'm still—still not gonna let you die.” 

Mark offered a hand to him, tilting his head to look at him. He tried to remain conscious of his balance on the railing—it would be a terrible ending to the situation if he were to fall. “Then let's go. You and me.”

“Your life--”

“Will you shut up about that?” Mark snapped. He softened at Jack's recoil. “I don't care about any of that. I told you before, losing you was the worst thing I ever had to do. And I won't do it again. I don't care what I have to give up, so long as I get to keep you in my life.” 

It was diluted, but the soft smell of smoke hit Mark just then, and Jack must have smelled it too, because he met his gaze. Mark still held out a hand, outstretched, palm up—waiting. Honestly, he had no reservations about this at all. He was completely serious—he didn't care. Perhaps that was stupid, perhaps he should care more. But he didn't. And he wasn't going to bother trying. All he wanted was Jack, and now that he had the chance to get him back, he wasn't going to pass it up. 

Jack tentatively reached out, taking his hand. “I just...don't want you to leave again. I don't care what happens. I just want you to be here.”

Mark squeezed. “I won't. I'll be here, I promise. It'll be you and me. Against the rest of the world.”

“You and me,” Jack echoed. A soft smiled curled onto his lips, almost mischievous, like his old self again. “Now that's an idea I can get behind.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Thank you for reading.


End file.
